


Naming Of Parts

by KoreArabin



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2010)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bondage, Explicit Sexual Content, Gunplay, Inanimate Object Porn, M/M, Oral Play, gun fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty steps closer, bringling the revolver up slowly, and running the muzzle lightly down the side of Sebastian's face, along his jaw line and then teasingly over his lips, which part immediately as Moran lets out a long, shaky, sigh.</p><p>"What shall we do with you, hmmm, chick?  Didn't your commanding officer ever tell you that it is dangerous to play with guns?"</p><p>Sebastian lets out another shaking gasp as Moriarty slowly runs the muzzle down his neck, over his chest and stomach, and presses it hard against the bulge that has appeared at Sebastian's crotch.</p><p>"Do you want me to play with you, pet?  Do you really want to play such a <i>dangerous</i> game with <i>me</i>?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

To say that the Professor is not best impressed to find his marksman cleaning his guns in his study would be something of an understatement. He has spent a most vexatious morning unravelling a problem involving some missing stock certificates, only to discover that they were not missing at all, but had simply been misfiled by an incompetent bank clerk. The Professor's time is precious, and his _free_ time even more so, and consequently he has returned home in a state of some ill humour. 

The two rifles Moran has in the room appear to have been dealt with, neatly packed away in their case and propped against the bookshelf. However, Moran holds a revolver in his hand, which he is clearly still cleaning, judging from the stained rags and brushes spread out on the table before him, and the strong smell of gun oil in the air.

"Colonel. May I ask why you have chosen my study, of all places, to clean your guns? You are aware that this room must be kept clean and in good order and clear of this sort of mess at all times, yes? That this is my working space, by which I mean it is my haven for quiet thought and contemplation and writing, and I do not appreciate it being used as a common workshop."

Moran looks up, tipping his head to one side in the cocky way that the Professor sometimes finds endearing, but at this moment finds rather provoking, looking totally unabashed and slightly amused. "I've spread a cloth over the table, look, and I ain't got gun oil on none of your papers or books. I've been extremely careful not to, Sir, knowing as how you'd be upset if I had."

Moriarty scowls in irritation. "That is not the point, Colonel! The point is that you do not carry out such menial tasks in my study, and whether you manage not to spill oil or daub my papers with greasy fingermarks is totally _beside_ the damned point!"

Sebastian cocks his head again and smirks. "Sorry, Sir. The maids've been cleaning in the other rooms, and I didn't want to frighten them. Last time one of them said she'd near had a fainting fit, she was so frightened at the size of me weapon." 

Despite himself, Moriarty has to break into a wry smile at that. Moran and his continual flirting. He's seen a couple of the younger housemaids looking wistfully after the good Colonel as he swaggers around the house, tipping them the odd wink and making them blush.

"Just - _finish_ it, for God's sake, Sebastian, and clear up after yourself. Brandy?"

"Don't mind if I do Sir, thank you."

The Professor pours them both a stiff drink and leans back in his armchair as Moran finishes polishing the revolver and stoppers up the gun oil. "It is unusual to find you with a pistol, Sebastian?"

"It's me old Army revolver, Sir. I don't use it much now, but I keep it for old time's sake, and I like to keep it up to scratch with a clean every now and then." 

"May I?" The Professor reaches over and picks up the weapon, tilting it and watching how the light catches on the dully shining metal, testing its weight. He is, of course, quite familiar with the operation of a pistol himself, the revolver being his weapon of choice, but it is quite a novelty to see his marksman with one. He opens the cylinder and holds the gun up to the light, inspecting the barrel. Unsurprisingly, the weapon is clean and in extremely good condition.

Moran stands by silently, but Moriarty can feel him watching him intently. "Colonel?"

Sebastian brings himself to with a visible effort. 

"Are you quite well, Colonel?"

Sebastian swallows hard, his face flushing. "Yes, um, Sir. Yes, I'm, um, well, it's just.... It's just you. Holding the gun. It makes you look, um.... like you might use it, Sir. Like you're dangerous. Like you might use it on me."

Ah. So _that_ explains the Colonel's flushed face and neck, his rapid breath and his blown pupils. He is _aroused_ at the sight of his employer wielding his gun. How very _interesting_.

Moriarty steps closer, bringling the revolver up slowly, and running the muzzle lightly down the side of Sebastian's face, along his jaw line and then teasingly over his lips, which part immediately as Moran lets out a long, shaky, sigh.

"What shall we do with you, hmmm, chick? Didn't your commanding officer ever tell you that it is dangerous to play with guns?"

Sebastian lets out another shaking gasp as Moriarty slowly runs the muzzle down his neck, over his chest and stomach, and presses it hard against the bulge which has appeared at Sebastian's crotch.

"Do you want me to play with you, pet? Do you really want to play such a _dangerous_ game with _me_?" 

Moran gasps, and nods, managing a whispered, "Please, Sir." The Professor is rather surprised that he can speak at all.

Moriarty guides Sebastian over to the desk, laying the gun down beside them.

"Bend over the desk and make yourself comfortable. We shall be here for some time."

Sebastian turns and bends himself obediently over the desk, bracing himself on his elbows. 

"Hands behind your back." Moran complies swiftly and feels a leather strap being fastened around his wrists. He pulls at it experimentally, but the Professor has him securely bound. Moran is then startled momentarily as another leather strap is slipped over his eyes, this one wider and softer than the one around his wrists. Moriarty fastens the blindfold tightly, testing it to ensure that it is secure and that Sebastian cannot see.

Sebastian starts slightly as he feels the muzzle of the pistol pressing at his backside, rubbing him through the tweed of his trousers, up and down the seam between his buttocks, and between his legs, nudging at the back of his testicles. His cock is rock hard in his underclothes, the sight of the Professor brandishing the gun, combined with the sensations of being so intimately caressed with the weapon, forcing him to rut against the desk, rubbing his cockhead against the linen of his undergarments.

Abruptly, the muzzle jabs his testicles, hard. "No. Stay still, chick. You'll be allowed to pleasure yourself if you're a good boy, but only when I permit it."

With a long, low groan, Sebastian stills and waits for what the Professor has in store for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Moriarty continues to rub the gun's muzzle between Moran's clothed buttocks, reaching down between his legs to cup his testicles, squeezing at them and at Sebastian's hard cock, feeling it twitch against his hand, confined as it is in its fabric prison.

"What am I going to do with you, Colonel?" Moriarty muses again. "What do you _want_ me to do with you, chick, I wonder? Shall I begin by removing these irritating trousers? You appear to be in some discomfort, my dove. I'll wager you'd appreciate me pulling them down and leaving you bare-arsed as you lie bent over my desk like a good, docile, tiger, waiting to see if your owner will allow you to demean yourself by begging to be touched?"

Sebastian's deep groan of frustration suggests that that is something he would like very much indeed.

The Professor pulls Sebastian's trousers down to mid-thigh, freeing his cock but at the same time exposing his arse and hampering his movement, and Sebastian shivers in awareness of both of those things, and in anticipation.

The Professor stands back to admire his handiwork, Moran bound and sightless, his backside bare and vulnerable. It is a delicious sight. He runs a finger teasingly up and down the crease between Sebastian's buttocks, relishing the slight whimper this provokes from the restrained marksman.

"You do not move unless I tell you to move, and you do not attempt to rub yourself against the desk. Is that clear, Colonel?"

When no response is forthcoming, he slaps Moran hard across the buttocks. "I _said_ , Colonel, is that clear?"

When he answers, Sebastian's voice is low and thick with arousal. "Yes, Sir... perfectly clear, ...Sir." 

Despite the study's relative warmth, the air feels chill on his bare buttocks. The Professor has left him here, bent over, exposed and achingly hard, longing to be able to rub himself against the smooth, body-warmed wood of the desk. He can hear the Professor moving around in the room behind him, a series of faint sounds which suggest that he is moving papers and books and opening drawers or cupboards, but none of the noises are clear enough to ascertain Moriarty's actions.

But then he feels the Professor behind him again, his clothed crotch pressed against his bare backside, and it is clear that Moran is now not the only one of them sporting a pronounced erection. As Moriarty pulls away, he hears the sound of a bottle being unstoppered and then the Professor's finger is at his entrance, stroking oil over it until the tight, pink opening begins to relax and stutter open. 

The Professor teases him, just barely working the tip very of his finger in and out of the ring of muscle. He presses deeper inside him with agonising languor, if Sebastian manages to remain still rewarding him by pressing in slightly deeper but, if he moves even the slightest amount, punishing him by withdrawing the finger.

At last the finger is in to the knuckle, and Moran is lying gasping over the desk, his cheek pressed against the smooth wood, willing himself with all his might not to buck his hips and thrust back against the delicious penetration.

"More, chick? Do you want me to stretch your hole out for you? Ensure that you are open and wet and ready for me? Not too much lubrication though, I think. Just enough to make it comfortable for me when I take you. You, on the other hand, rather like it when it's a little painful, don't you, my dove? You enjoy the feeling of a thick cock forcing its way into you, don't you, being taken, being made to whimper?"

Moriarty leans forward across his bound sniper and runs his tongue over Sebastian's lips, pulling back when he tries to return the caress, only leaning in again once Moran is still, allowing Moriarty to explore his lips and mouth with his tongue, thrusting into him as he lies passive and obedient, opening his lips slightly to facilitate the penetration. 

Standing up, the Professor brushes a stray lock of auburn hair back from his forehead. “Delicious, my dove. You taste delicious. Hmmm, where was ? Ah, yes. How you like to be taken, to be _fucked_. And so you shall be, chick, and so you shall be, but I have in mind something rather different for today.”

Retrieving the revolver from the desk, he places the muzzle just in front of Sebastian’s lips. “But first, a _little_ lubrication will be required. Open your mouth, Colonel.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sebastian grunts as he feels the muzzle against his lips, but parts them cautiously, allowing the Professor to push the barrel into his mouth. The cold barrel is hard and alien against the soft flesh of his lips and tongue, and his mouth and nose are full of the taste and smell of gun oil. Moriarty works the weapon slowly in and out of his sniper's mouth, watching intently as Sebastian simply allows him to do it, offering no resistance even when the metal of the barrel chinks against his teeth.

"Good boy, very good. You shall want to get your revolver warm and well-lubricated, for surely you must realise that I intend to sodomise you with it once I am satisfied that you have fellated it sufficiently. Make love to it, pet, imagine that I am standing before you, allowing you to suckle on my prick. That's it, my dove, swallow it down and get it slick and wet." 

Sebastian's mouth closes eagerly around the gun, sucking, moaning deep in his throat, finding it impossible now to prevent the involuntary bucking of his hips as he imagines being penetrated with the weapon, imagines it pushing cold and hard inside him, imagines the Professor _fucking_ him with it as he whimpers and squirms beneath him.

Abruptly, the revolver is pulled from his mouth and he feels the Professor's fingers in his hair, holding him in place as he kicks Sebastian's legs further apart. The confines of his position hit him again: his legs are trapped between the layers of his clothing without and the Professor's legs within. He is held fast over the desk, able only to wriggle slightly and rock his hips.

Then the very tip of the muzzle is tracing the pink ring of muscle around his opening, gleaming with the oil with which the Professor has lubricated him. Sebastian groans and Moriarty tightens the grip on his hair.

"Lie still, Sebastian. I am about to fuck you with your revolver. I want you still and attentive and aware of every inch of metal entering you as I slide it in." Sebastian chokes as the end of the muzzle slips inside him, not warm at all, despite his ministrations. He shivers as the barrel pushes deeper, so very hard and so very cold. Moriarty continues to press the weapon into him, maddeningly slowly, until at last Sebastian feels the trigger guard touch the back of his testicles and knows that the barrel is completely inside him.

Moriarty works the gun gently in and out, varying the speed and the angle of the thrusts until he touches the spot inside Sebastian that has him gasping and groaning as he pushes back against the metal, trying to obtain more friction, more pressure on that incredibly sweet, sensitive, spot. Moriarty immediately stops moving the weapon, tugging at Sebastian's hair, urging him to rock himself back and forth on the gun, tilting his arse upwards to ensure that the muzzle rubs him where he needs to be rubbed. 

"That's it, pet, rut yourself on it. I can see your arse clenching down on it. Show me how much you want to be fucked by your gun."

Sebastian moans, thrusting backwards against the barrel, his balls slapping against the metal of the trigger guard and grip. The tip of the muzzle is scraping inside him so deliciously, and he can feel his orgasm mounting yet, somehow, it is not enough.

"Please, more. Please, Sir, touch me, _please_ , Sir!"

"No, I don't think so, pet. You'll come being fucked on your revolver or not at all. _Fuck_ yourself, you little slut. This is all you're getting. Perhaps, _next time_ , I'll use your Mauser - or - your Martini-Henry - sorry - _Greener_ Martini? Which would be more satisfying, do you think, Colonel? Which would fill you and make you beg? I rather think the Sporter, especially with its suppressor; do you think that would make you scream?"

The Professor's words have Moran gasping and writhing, as he teeters on the very edge of orgasm, imagining himself being opened up by by the thick, long, grooved, suppressor. Rutting against the desk, his cock catching against the smooth wood, fucking backwards on to the barrel, all he can do is moan and beg.

"Please, _please_ , Sir. For the love of God, Sir, _please_."


	4. Chapter 4

"No, Sebastian. You shall come from fucking yourself on the gun or you shall not come at all. Fuck yourself. Harder - that's it. Good boy."

Moran fucks back on to the barrel, desperate for relief. Vaguely, he is aware that he will be left very sore indeed after such frenzied rutting, but he can't care about that now. His entire consciousness is focussed solely on his cock slipping against the desk, the hard metal barrel buried in his backside, and the overwhelming need to orgasm.

Just as he is on the edge of tears in frustration and desperation, Moriarty leans over him and growls, very quietly, into his ear. "The pistol is _loaded_ , chick."

Moran stills completely, gasping out a choked, "No."

"Yes, my dove. What did you imagine I was doing whilst you were bent over the desk?"

Then, a sudden _click_ , deafeningly loud to Sebastian, as Moriarty draws back the hammer. "And now it is cocked. Fuck yourself, Sebastian. Fuck yourself on your loaded, cocked, gun. Come for me, my dove, come - now!"

On that last syllable, Moriarty pulls the trigger. 

Sebastian screams, spasming helplessly over the desk as he comes, wrists twisting in their restraints, fingers clawing at the air as his arse clenches and unclenches around the gun. His climax seems to go on indefinitely, aftershocks tearing through him until he is utterly spent, panting and sweating, his breath stuttering as sporadic, gasping sobs are wrung out of him.

The Professor releases his wrists, and then carefully removes the blindfold, pulling Sebastian up to him and holding him tight, unsure as to how steady his sniper will be on his legs after such a climax. Moriarty half supports, half carries Moran over to the chaise longue in the corner of the study, arranging him so that he is clothed again, curled in a foetal position, with his head cradled in the Professor's lap. 

Moriarty smoothes Sebastian's sweat soaked hair back from his face. "Shush, shush, pet, I have you. You are safe. I have you now."

Moran's breathing settles slowly, hitching every so often with an involuntary sob, which he smothers by turning his face and hiding it in Moriarty's lap as his lover continues to gently stroke and caress him until he is quite calm and composed. When at last Moran speaks, his voice is still strained and hoarse.

"Sir? I believed you. I believed you, but... I didn't believe you. I believed you _could_ do it, but I believed you _wouldn't_ do it... but, I didn't know."

"My dove, my good, dear, Sebastian. Could you believe that I could do such a thing? To you? Hush, my dove. Lie still, here, against me, and hush."

And Moran, warm and reassured, calm and content, nuzzles into his employer's lap and considers sleepily when his guns will next need cleaning.

**Author's Note:**

> I am truly rubbish at coming up with titles for my fics. The title here is a reference to Henry Reed's famous and fantastic poem "Naming Of Parts", and has no relevance at all to the fic other than that both involve guns.


End file.
